If you enter the woods reverentially

 Even a small grove or a well-maintained city park can deliver, but the full experience occurs once you get far enough away from the road that you’re beyond the litter.

Here are ten voices that reflect the wonder.

  1. “And into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul.” … “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” — John Muir
  2. “Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.” — Hal Borland
  3. “If you walk into a forest, you hear all kinds of subtle sounds, but underneath there is an all-pervasive silence.” — Eckhart Tolle
  4. “It is said that the forest has a certain limit if you look straight ahead, but the sides are boundless.” — Riccardo Bozzi
  5. “All forests have their own personality.” — Charles de Lint
  6. “I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” — Henry David Thoreau
  7. “Anywhere which is in a forest, that’s my Zen place.” — Raveena Tandon
  8. “For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
  9. “It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.” — Robert Louis Stevenson
  10. “The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Poets and more poets

In E’burg, met a poet — Richard Danner — who couldn’t put his wife in a poem until they split, after 12 years of marriage, allowing him to write a book, Single Space. And how jealous they became of the other’s writings.

There’s a dilemma of consider her as an objective subject to be, um, exploited.

Maybe some things deserve to remain private.

Pflum said the words he likes to use are the conditionals: if, then, because, ad infinitum: the words of logic, of possibility, of thought itself …

Yet they often dilute the action. Somehow, they work for him, though.

Kentucky Fried Movie opens with the line, “The popcorn you are eating has been pissed in,” and deteriorates from there.

I have so many overdue books from the library yet don’t want to return them just now.

The Ellensburg library has a whole set of early Cetra opera LPs. Unlike Yakima’s.

20 Apr

Finished the longpoem.

Kitty phoned, depressed, wouldn’t say why.

Why do I put up with it?

Off to the office. [Was I journaling early a.m., after meditation etc.?]

Flow of revisions, largely the Leonard Springs pieces …

Cherries deep red, about to be picked …

Perfection versus sterility

The bounty of the prairie: abide in it

Milton! Getting down to him at last … his head and heart going in opposite directions … damn theology but his heart betraying that in the few moments it can. He was blind to more than vision.

Ideas for revising Native tales: use Bob White or even Rbt. White for quail. Logger, Cutter, even Sawyer for beaver. Cops, FBI, CIA, spooks for monsters or evil spirits. Lawyers for lazy characters or blue jays. Jesus for coyote. Update and urbanize, satirize modern society. Consider quaint spellings for Wyatt, Philip, Sidney, William, Dunbar, etc.

Weave in some glare and grime.

In English poetry, the weight of Christian doctrine closing the range of thought and sensibility to a single, predictable line. Thus, the wonder of Blake’s singular accomplishments.

20:VI

A letter from Copper Canyon Press, wanting to publish my book if “patronly folks” will come through with “essential cash” … great letter, exciting potential (retitle and some revising) …

Also, from Celeste, a tearsheet from a Seattle weekly reinterpreting the Mexican movie Chac, about a “diviner” who carves out his own heart at the end: this piece now viewing the events through Native perspectives … {We had seen the movie at one of Seattle’s art film houses.]

My compulsive reading, a suppressed hunger

 Revising poems with a tape recorder … a whole new perspective …

 24 Sept Sunday

Heard Bill Stafford read last night in E’burg at Washington State Poets Assn or some such … Grimes and Bodeen were there to sell Yakimas that had just come out the day before. Audience mostly elderly, stout ladies who sighed over lines and applauded single works. I get tired of so many short pieces that fail to break through the prose barrier and do the magic in the backcountry of so much of today’s verse, the realm so few have entered. Grimes said Stafford had done an amazing reading at Cedar Falls, hardly said a word except for what he read, but here he was explaining each one or offering some kind of patter for it. I said he was playing to his audience, and BG agreed fully. Two pitchers of beer for Grimes and me, Bodeen ordering root beer — “this tastes like tomato juice” — getting red beer instead, finally settling on strawberry. First time since he was 17 he’d gone a week without alcohol — “ttat’s seven days, not five,” Grimes explained.

The owner said he had hired Kitty “to give the joint some class”

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

Mobility issues, mostly

Halloween (1977): 22 inches of new snow in Cayuse Pass, 4 in Snoqualmie Pass, two of our routes to Seattle … winter was already closing in.

The kid wrecked the Capri while trying to use the CB he had received for his birthday the night before. Had he been in the Triumph, he’d be dead.

From loose letters, carbon copy, Nov. 28, a now obsolete form of address: “Sirs:” Even “Sir” becomes questionable.

windy night
gusts to 55 mph
highway speed

not feeling well
as Kitty smelled on my breath

~*~

6 Nov, Wednesday, new car arrived today. Feels solid, runs beautifully.

Looking back, I’m surprised that we went with Subaru, at the time a new entry into the U.S. market. I draw a blank at trying to remember the process of signing all the papers or how I even picked up the car, considering that we (make that Kitty) decided we’d keep our VW Bug which had no trade-in value. 

That night, I surprised Kitty by driving up to E’Burg.. She loves the new car, its size and color. Took her to dinner.

Back at her apartment, a knock at the door. Two officers checking a strange odor in the hallway, fearing it might be more than rotting garbage. Inquiring about the neighbors. Any elderly? How long the smell? (A week.) Have you seen them recently? (Later she said her neighbor had been crying the day before. She almost offered her a ride to cheer her.) (Wait? In what?) On my drive home, I wondered: Did her neighbor kill the boyfriend she was kicking out? Is Kitty safe? She wouldn’t have answered the door if I weren’t there. Did the officer parked behind my car take down my license plate number? What was he radioing so long? They said a sheriff’s deputy reported the smell, but what was he doing in the building in the first place? Intrigue and foreboding, I presume …

Small-town cops, I’d say now, or perhaps federal ICE agents.

~*~

Mid-November

Snow flurries,
large flakes
briefly at noon

Nancy and Len’s visit all the way to our shack near Wapato, south of Yakima … [surprised to see they did that, though she had parents in the Seattle area … wish I had more!] Sleeping bags on our floor? She was a fine bubbly presence in our Indiana University endeavor.

Kitty’s been asked to place two of her sculptures in a Central [State University] show this spring — it’s by invitation only. Any reassurance she finds will quickly fade …

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.